


bedrock

by spookykingdomstarlight



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amputation, M/M, Padmé Amidala Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2018-12-23 17:17:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11994381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookykingdomstarlight/pseuds/spookykingdomstarlight
Summary: “You’re hurt,” he said, flat, unhappy. The unadulterated joy he’d expressed moments ago was replaced by concern.Luke shrugged, one-shouldered, and looked away. His cheeks grew pink with warmth. “Surprise?” Daring to look back, he caught sight of a raised eyebrow and an unimpressed thinning of lips. Even so, Luke could see a battle raging in Lando’s eyes. Hewaspleased, even if he was unhappy, too.That seemed to be the way of it with them.





	bedrock

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AceQueenKing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceQueenKing/gifts).



Luke dragged the fingertips of his prosthesis over the smooth, crisp-white walls of Cloud City’s main hallway. He was still getting used to the haptic feedback relays; they were both too fine-tuned and not fine-tuned enough, he found. He felt things quickly and in jittering starts and fits, but he could never anticipate when it would happen. Saw said it was a consequence of the technology, that his brain would learn to compensate, that he’d feel as whole as he ever was in no time. Whole, if not free of pain. That, he’d told Luke, would never quite fade.

And so far, Saw’d been right.

His shoulder still burned; the scars still pulled, gnarled and hard, against the smooth, uninjured expanse of his chest, back, and neck.

It was, he thought, a reminder from the universe of the costs of the fight. What he’d done…

Well, he probably deserved worse.

Sighing, he scraped the nails of his other hand—his own hand—through the short, curling hair that sat at the base of his neck. It needed a trim, his hair and nails both.

He had no real reason to be here on Cloud City and he knew it. There were no deals to be made, no weapons or supplies or people to smuggle to and from the Partisans’ latest target. And yet, it was the first place he’d wanted to come to after getting out of the healers’ clawed, mechanical grasps back on Jedha.

Jyn had tried to argue with him—it was too soon, he was still healing, they’d almost lost him and here he was trying to gallivant off to who knew where—she’d argued with him all the way to the spaceport until Leia had finally, finally told her to knock it off, that she wasn’t going to convince Luke of anything when it came to his own health or wellbeing, and if she didn’t know that by now she was hopeless. Leia might not have understood Luke’s constant desire to be anywhere except where he was; she had everything she needed already, carried it with her in ways Luke couldn’t emulate. But she supported him.

His mother had nothing _but_ this and wouldn’t have left home even if it had been clear she needed more. Still. She supported him in her way, too, and had simply told him to be careful, to not stay too long, to bring back as much intel as he could just before he stepped into the hangar. She was practical, Padmé Skyrrie was, and knew she’d raised stubborn children. The best she could hope for was that his otherwise pointless excursion would yield fruit.

To Luke, it wasn’t pointless. It was as necessary to him as oxygen, as every single session of physical and occupational therapy, as the endless, grueling fight against the Empire was.

It might have taken him years and the loss of his arm, but time and injury brought a clarity of purpose that the rebellion had not.

Lando.

He knew this place as well as he’d known the back of his remaining hand; his feet could bring him to his destination without the rest of him even thinking of it. He couldn’t live in the midst of all this opulence. Lando’s city was the eye of a hurricane, a mirage in the desert, and sometimes Luke envied him this place of peace he’d built from nothing that served no obvious purpose greater than the generation of wealth and luxury. He couldn’t live here, but he could visit on occasion.

Cloud City was a sanctuary.

And somewhere along the way, Luke had made it his purpose to see that the Empire never touched it.

It wasn’t long before Luke saw the telltale swish of blue, a coy flash of gold, and the bright, beaming smile of one Lando Calrissian as he strode, first with purpose, then with speed, toward Luke. Few people roamed the hallways at this time, luck or design, Luke couldn’t say, but those who did stopped for a moment and peered at Lando as he gathered Luke into his arms and squeezed tight, laughing against Luke’s ear. The Baron Administrator was a gregarious, charming man, but he didn’t make a habit of launching himself at his visitors.

Though Luke wouldn’t have traded the shearing agony of Lando’s grip on his injured shoulder for the opposite, the unconscious hiss he expelled was enough to clue Lando in and get him stepping back. Being as smart a man as he was, he honed in on the problem immediately. Despite the long sleeves, despite the glove, despite everything, he got it immediately.

“You’re hurt,” he said, flat, unhappy. The unadulterated joy he’d expressed moments ago was replaced by concern.

Luke shrugged, one-shouldered, and looked away. His cheeks grew pink with warmth. “Surprise?” Daring to look back, he caught sight of a raised eyebrow and an unimpressed thinning of lips. Even so, Luke could see a battle raging in Lando’s eyes. He _was_ pleased, even if he was unhappy, too.

That seemed to be the way of it with them.

“I didn’t know you were coming. I don’t have any—” Lando spread his arms wide and opened his palms. He didn’t have anything useful to offer.

But Luke wasn’t here to find something useful, no. Not the kind of useful Lando meant anyway.

So instead, Luke shook his head, captured one of Lando’s hands in his, careful to avoid crushing it between the cold, unyielding digits that had replaced his own. It was important, he’d been told, to use it as he would have used his real hand.

 _This is,_ he thought, _my real hand now_. All the way up to his shoulder, it was real and it was his.

Lando’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. His eyes dropped to their twined fingers and his lips formed into a questioning pout. He wanted to ask a question, discover the truth of what he was sensing for himself. That much was clear. The Force worked even when Luke didn’t want it to, told him things he didn’t need to know. “What…”

Peeling the glove free, he wiggled the appendage. It whirred and clicked; the Partisans had few enough resources at their disposal and none of those resources were state-of-the-art. Luke was lucky to get the replacement at all. That it was clunky and ugly, the metallic sheen of it having dulled with age long ago, and looked like it would better suit a droid was neither here nor there.

“How?” But before Luke could answer, Lando connected the dots for himself. “It was that base on Retira, wasn’t it?”

Luke’s jaw set as he tipped his chin up. He barely refrained from crossing his arms. He had no reason to be defensive and yet he wanted to defend himself. Lando’s opinion counted more than anyone else’s. “Someone had to do it before it was occupied.” Between the finalization of the construction phase and the start of operations, there wasn’t a lot of time. If Luke wanted to limit casualties—and he did, even if most others thought those considerations were long in the past—he’d had to go then. And it had to be him. That he became his own casualty as a result was just poetic justice. “Or someone else would have done it after.”

Lando reached for him then, took his good arm in hand and pulled him toward one of the many alcoves that lined Cloud City’s halls. “You’re going to get yourself killed one of these days,” he said to Luke, fierce and protective, his eyes wide, earnest. “You don’t have to do this. There are other ways…”

Unable to help himself any longer, Luke leaned forward and pressed a kiss against Lando’s soft, slack mouth. It wasn’t the first time he’d done something so rash, but it was the first time it meant more to Luke than he was usually willing to give. “Sometimes people have to pick a side,” he replied, hushed, “so that other people don’t have to.”

Something like anger flashed in Lando’s eyes, quickly smothered and yet impossible to ignore. This wasn’t the first time they’d had this fight. It wouldn’t be the last. At least this time, Luke refrained from reciting his usual addition: that one day, Lando, too, would have to pick a side. Truly. Even if he didn’t like it.

But for right now—

“I didn’t come here to argue with you, Lando,” he said, apologetic.

“I’m sorry,” Lando answered immediately, his features clearing, generosity and gratitude replacing that smoldering resentment. “You’re right. This isn’t—are you alright?”

Luke nodded. This, this was what he’d come for. He would be fine if Lando kept looking at him that way. “Yeah. I just—wanted to see you.”

Taking hold of Luke’s hand again, Lando inspected its surface, rubbed the pad of his thumb thoughtfully across the harsh ridges that made up the knuckles. “I wish I could’ve been there.” That was impossible, of course. Neither Saw nor his mother would have allowed it and for perfectly fine, respectable reasons. But oh, how Luke ached for the chance, a version of events where Lando could be notified if—if something went wrong. It would at least be nice to have Lando at his side as he was recovering.

Luke didn’t intend to get into situations where that kind of access was necessary, but he also hadn’t intended to end up with his arm crushed by falling debris either.

“It’s okay that you weren’t,” Luke replied. “You’re here now. That’s what matters.”

“I’m always here. You came to me. I don’t know how much my being here _does_ matter.” Lando lifted Luke’s new hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss against it. “Come on.” He pushed Luke toward the hallway. “Let’s get caught up.”

As they walked toward Lando’s private chambers, Luke thought about everything Lando had built here and marveled at it and Lando anew. This, Luke would continue to fight for. This, he’d come back for. His mother had nothing but the fight; Leia had a fire she stoked inside of herself, a constant source of energy and heat, always consumed and never yet never draining either; Luke… Luke had Lando and Cloud City and the belief that there would someday be an end to this and that the cost of victory would not be too high.

It was enough.

It had to be enough.

This was all he had.

This was, he thought, all he wanted.


End file.
